


About truth

by Veei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:24:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veei/pseuds/Veei
Summary: Sandor has a few things to say to Sansa about what happened at the Ruby Ford, but is she ready for his opinion?





	About truth

“Can we see the silks father? I want to make something for the Queen.”  
Her father sighed. Lately, he had little else for Sansa. She had begged him for a stroll in the market, together for a little while. He had agreed, to her surprise, he could need time away from the Small Council. The one condition was Arya and Septa Mordane had to come too.  
  
The sharpness of the heat let Sansa hope autumn was never to come South. More half naked men that she had ever seen in her life walked around, in various degrees of cleanliness and paying only a little interest to the Hand and his party.  
  
King’s Landing’s market was row after row of spices and fabric, woven baskets and pots of brown. Livelier colors than trinkets from the winter town, tainted mirrors yielding a softer light. There were baked sweets that covered her chin with sugar when she bit into one. Her sister hoped from stall to stall, curiosity dulling the tip of her anger, and the household guards who heeled them had trouble keeping her in check. Septa Mordane was appalled and made it known.  
The sisters didn't speak but somehow, by the time the septa led Arya back to the Keep for her dancing lesson, Sansa’s heart did not hang as heavy in her chest as it had since the incident at the Ruby Ford.  
  
Father and daughter were about to enter a shop when Sansa spotted the Hound, slicing the crowd towards them, the Red Keep looming over him.  
“Lord Stark. A riot is in progress at the docks. Both captains involved have two stories on who started it and why. Slynt is nowhere to be found, His Grace urges you to lead the reinforcement while he settles the matter at court.”, he offered without courtesy or any tone that might indicate his mood. Behind him, two dozen gold cloaks awaited orders.  
Sansa listened intently but the city was so large, she could not hear a thing above the usual buzzing of the market.  
Father huffed, the way to the dock ran opposite the Keep. Contrary to Joffrey’s sworn shield, he made no show of concealing his ire.  
  
She grabbed his arm, fearful.  
“But why send you?”  
“Chastisement for the place I put Robert in for Darry, I reckon.”  
To the Hound he said, “I will go at once. Come Sansa.”  
He turned to two of the guardsmen he had brought with them.  
“Take my daughter back to the Keep.”  
“You may need every man, Lord Stark. Her Grace sent me to bring your daughter back.”  
  
Strange for the Queen to think of Sansa after what had happened on the road. Ned Stark eyed the Hound with open loathing.  
“Take her straight to the Tower of the Hand and leave her with her septa.”  
“Father!”, she started to protest for his safety, but he cut her before she could say more.  
“Do as you're told and stay at your sister's side once you're back. We will come back some other day.”, he finished with a tired smile.  
The Hound didn't respond but bowed his head. The Hand of the King beckoned his men and the gold cloaks to follow him while Sansa murmured a prayer for his safety as he disappeared. He would only command, not fight, and Eddard Stark had survived more than one battle, but she couldn't help the dread.  
  
The Hound nudged her toward the Keep and Sansa set off slowly, her eyes on the cobblestones. They had not spoken since the night of the tourney. Draping and unraveling the ribbon she had bought over the length of her finger, she wondered if she should reassure him she had kept his secret faithfully.  
  
“Stop fidgeting.”, he admonished. “And don't wander off. I've got no wish to saunter in this blaze.” He pushed his hair back on his skull. Sansa peeked at him, there was no ear on this side of his face to keep them from falling in his eye. He looked furious at the heat.  
“At least it's you and not your wolf of a sister. Can't wait to cut my head off that one.”  
  
In the punishing heat of the late afternoon, they made slow progress up the hill of Rhaenys, despite the crowd parting to avoid Joffrey’s dog, as he called himself. The high neckline of the pretty lavender dress she was wearing protected her from sun kisses but clung to her skin and she wanted nothing as much as pulling on it and letting some cool air slither in.  
She tried keeping to Sandor Clegane’s huge shadow to shield the brunt of the sun but it made them walk close.  
  
“Arya doesn't hate you.”, she offered to break his sullen silence.  
“That's not what she says.”, he replied in an even tone, as if he barely cared.  
“Well… Maybe she does but she doesn't understand what happened. She's too young.”  
“And what is it that happened then?”  
  
He wouldn't look at her and all Sansa saw was his scars. She suspected it was on purpose and couldn't tell if it made talking to him worse or not.  
  
“Mycah hurt Joffrey and he shouldn't have ran.”  
“Is that the truth?”, he barked and Sansa jumped away from him in surprise. “You were there and you knew better than anyone what the boy did.”  
“I don't remember! Joffrey told me!”, she replied, her cheeks burning.  
“Bugger that. You didn't forget.”  
His stride lengthened and she struggled to follow, worried she would lose him.  
“That's what the Queen said happened.”  
“She wasn't there.”  
“You weren't there.”, she countered weakly.  
“I wasn't. And you were. That's all true.”, he admitted in a tone that betrayed that he wanted nothing more than to let his foul temper loose. “You want to know why I killed him, instead of dragging him back to the Queen? What do you suppose she would have done to a butcher’s boy?”  
“Nothing! Joffrey was lost from the pain. He wouldn't have hurt him. He's just and gallant.”  
The Hound scoffed.  
“Still believe that? Let me tell you what the boy would have had for staying and facing _justice_. Joffrey said he was attacked so the Queen believes that. See how the King handled the whole mummery?”  
“But he's the… He…”  
“He rules, yes, when he's tricked into it. Do you know what happens in the black cells? Men rot in their filth and if gangrene won't eat them first then the rats will. Your sister's friend took a second to die instead of months. Hacked in two instead of ten pieces or more. Sewn nice and proper to keep him going.”  
He drew deep breaths of badly concealed anger. The street shrank around them.  
“They would not have hurt Mycah. He and Arya were only playing.”, she blurted out. The Hound loomed over her. “You remember now, do you?”  
  
If only her heart could stop drumming, if only he would stop to let her breathe, she could find the right words.  
“Tell me”, he added a bit softly, “Why didn't you tell the truth if Joffrey would have been so gallant?”  
  
When she couldn't answer he smirked, the scars pulling tightly on his mouth, obnoxious in his usual cruel way of asserting everything.  
“I did that boy a service. Even if you won't admit it.”  
“I don't believe it.”, she said without pausing to think about what she was saying.  
“It's true whether or not you believe me.”, he shrugged.  
  
He misunderstood her.  
  
“No, I don't think you believe that.”  
  
He stopped abruptly and peered at her, forcing the crowd to manoeuvre around them. Sansa wondered if he would pinch her chin again to keep her eyes on him. It might be too much just now. But no, they were not alone and he knew better, even if they might as well be, she could not hear or see anyone else.  
  
“You keep telling yourself that, girl, and the next time your prince treat you like he did after the affair with the butcher’s boy, yes I know about that. He makes no secret of what he thinks of you now. Or your sister for that matter. The next time it's you he's mad at, remember him he's _gallant_ and that he was _wrong_.”  
  
She tried to keep her eyes closed but the sun bled through her eyelids without mercy, there was no escape from it, nor from him. He hated her so. She turned her eyes away from him, looking for help and finding none, but she froze when she realised what she was looking at instead, a merchant's stand covered in goods, and in the middle of necklaces and puppets, a small pile of furs. And nestled between two black ones was a grey pelt. Soft and little and lost.  
  
In this buzzing market in a city foreign to what she called home, there was no one around to bring her comfort. No one to tell her she could not know. So Sansa turned to herself.  
  
“I do remember.”, she sniffled. “But I never meant… Everyone wanted me to tell what happened.”  
She was crying for good now. He turned to see what she was looking at.  
“It went so bad so fast. Nymeria bit Joffrey but Arya did not meant for Mycah… and Lady…”, her voice faltered, “Joffrey had a _sword_...”  
There was maybe a flicker of regret, or pity, on his face when he saw her tears but the ruined side of his mouth twitched and it vanished.  
  
“Don't take all the blame, little bird. You might have denied it, but you didn’t do it. The boy knew he should have me or any kingsguard about him at all time. And what he has is barely a scratch. I’ve had worse ten times over. Bugger that, any squire who’s never even seen a battlefield has had worse. He's plenty guilty but see how I'm called a murderer for obeying my king?”  
Sansa looked around for indiscreet listeners, what he said had to be practically treason.  
He leaned down close to her face and she waited for the storm in his eyes to sweep her away when he rasped, “But don't lie about it now if you don't like the truth. It’s too late.”  
“And Mycah?”, she whispered, “What did he do to deserve it?”  
  
The Hound took a moment to consider.  
  
His answer was as an omen that came too late, “Shouldn't have been born a butcher’s boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my feeble attempt at a distraction.  
> I wrote Sandor maybe a bit more forward in his criticism of the Lannisters and here Sansa is more inclined to call him out on his BS than she did in that point of the story but hey. Trying to keep the same atmosphere these two have, but in a crowd instead of alone. Trying to channel the Sandor-is-a-dick-in-AGOT vibe.  
> I don't actually 100% agree with either of their assessment of the events, but I think that's a place where they could be in their respective recollections.


End file.
